


Night One

by anasticklefics



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:29:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29807073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anasticklefics/pseuds/anasticklefics
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale don’t talk about what they are unless the angel brings it up. If he doesn’t, it’s the first night of three they will enjoy together before it changes. It’s always been like this.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Night One

Crowley could sometimes feel Aziraphale’s wings brush past him; the tip of the feathers on his shoulder blade or arm or kneecap depending on where they were, how they were. Crowley had once called theirs the longest on-and-off relationship in the history of everything, and Azi, amused by his frustration, had chuckled and agreed.

They were good that night, not just on the same page, let’s ignore the rest type of good, but the outings, laughter, cuddling type of good. Crowley’s favorite kind. It made him drop his guard a little too much, he had to admit, but until he started questioning, until Aziraphale started hinting, they would usually have three nights of no doubt. They were on the first night, the most thrilling and dangerous night.

Aziraphale was watching him. Crowley could feel it. His angel was one question away from transforming this into something entirely else. Crowley could either flee or pull him close. Had never considered anything else.

He didn’t meet his gaze, a silent warning, almost, that he wasn’t in the mood to sit in his car for three hours and be mad at him. Not that he never made mistakes, but his were usually a slip of the tongue. Aziraphale’s were always thought out; hope making him talk even though Crowley kept claiming he wasn’t ready.

6 000 years of not being ready, but why put a label on something that had worked out for so long anyway?

“What’s on your mind?” he finally asked, sick of the silence, of not knowing.

Azi shifted in his seat, both of them leaning on the bench despite the night being both cold and rainy. Miraculously the rain wasn’t hitting them.

“I was wondering whether we should order in.” The start of a good night, then. Aziraphale always suggested they do something that inevitably would result in them being alone on the good nights, both of them too cowardly to say it aloud. No restaurants, no walks. Just them and food they didn’t need on a bed they rarely used.

He turned his head slowly toward his angel, a lazy grin on his face, the words that left his mouth slurred. As if any type of slowness could disguise his eagerness. As if Azi didn’t know him by then.

“Why not?” he replied. “Anything in particular you’re craving?”

“I was thinking ribs.”

“It’s that type of day, huh.”

Azi was starving in many ways. Crowley could tell. Could already feel it on his skin.

And then that fucking feathers came in the way. The ones that were slightly longer than the rest at the tip of Aziraphale’s wings. Invisible to him then, but he could picture the light. Imagined, just for fun, how it burned into his skin.

But now he merely felt it tickle. It was as if the angel was doing it on purpose.

“I can retaliate, you know,” he said, knowing how one flick to Aziraphale’s neck could make him howl. He left things like that for night two, usually, because it was the safest night. Why Azi was insisting on torturing him now was beyond him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, but his grin gave him away. He couldn’t hide when he was being mischievous. It was sort of endearing, if Crowley allowed himself to think in those terms.

He huffed, wanting to roll over to get the offending feather away from his lower back, but he was too comfortable. Too close to falling asleep had he been the type to sleep. And the wing brushing against his skin _felt_ good, mostly. If he simply remained still Azi would grow bored.

But who could lay still when someone tickled that spot where your ribs and underarms met anyway? Certainly not Crowley.

“You _bastard_ ,” he cried, wishing he could see Azi’s exaggerated offended expression whenever he swore like this, but he was busy, way too busy, being at mercy under his fingers.

He’d given up on the feather. Wasn’t after subtlety this time. It could make this night end badly if he felt like talking more than playing. Crowley would allow himself to be tickled to pieces if only he kept choosing the latter again and again.

Not that this wasn’t humiliating. It was, terribly so, as he squirmed into the mattress with Aziraphale kneeling above him with his fingertips against his bare skin, laughing along. But it was his angel and he’d seen worse. Had seen Crowley mess up, over and over, and embarrass himself again and again. He could take his teasing once this was over. Could take the sensation to a certain extent too.

And then he added the goddamn feathers into the mix again. God help him.


End file.
